I’m not convinced I was a “kid at heart” even when I was a kid. I don’t really have a goofy or silly or playful side. I’m not sure I ever did. Goofy people don’t even make me laugh.
One of the things that I enjoyed about being a kid, at least in retrospect, was not making any decisions and just being herded here or there.
I remember being curious about how things tasted, felt or smelled. Sniffing crayons, biting crayons. Sniffing Magic Markers and Whiteout. Eating my Gramma’s lipstick.
I just had to try dry dog food to see what it tasted like. It’s disgusting by the way. Okay wait, maybe I was a silly kid.
Breaking the thin layer of ice that formed over a puddle in the driveway on the walk out to meet the school bus on chilly spring mornings is a vivid memory. We had a long driveway by comparison to most other kids. Dad insisted we be ready and out there waiting good ‘n early, so sometimes there was time to kill out there.
I licked the monkey bars during recess one winter day and my tongue got stuck. A terrifying moment and naturally I just yanked and it came off but was very sore for a few days. I remember how the silver painted metal tasted and the scalding feeling on my tongue.
In the summer, I’d wander through the garden, always barefoot, and snack on raspberries, peas, carrots pulled right from the ground and just given a quick swipe on my pantleg.
I remember the soft dirt that felt like I was walking on a sandy beach, but also the harder clumps of dirt that almost hurt the bottoms of my feet.
My feet were so tough I could walk or run on gravel and I could walk through a stubble field, barefoot. The stubble is the twelve inches or so of crop that is left standing after it’s been harvested or swathed. It’s pointy and sharp and would leave scratches all over my ankles, shins and calves but somehow I could walk or run through without injuring my feet.
Being a kid at heart means getting away with all the stuff you can’t get away with as an adult I guess. The trials and errors. I’d love to go back.
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